The Inner Circle

I know where he’s talking about. In our downtown building, we house nearly one billion documents. There’re another 3.2 billion out in College Park, Maryland. And there’s overflow storage in places like Suitland, Maryland, whose building is the size of more than twenty football fields and houses over 6.4 billion documents. But since the most important issue-and biggest cost-surrounding document storage is room temperature, the Archives saves millions of dollars each year by using the natural cold of underground caves all across the country, from Lee’s Summit, Missouri, to Lenexa, Kansas, to, in the case of documents coming in from Ohio, the caves in Boyers, Pennsylvania.

“Can I ask you one last question?” I say, my eyes catching my own reflection in the windshield. “When you were back at the office… why’d you pick up my phone?”

“What?”

“Before. After we left the cemetery. You went back to the office; I was going back to see Nico. You said they called. You said you spoke to Mr. Harmon yourself,” I add, referring to the guy from Presidential Records who I called from the cemetery. “You said that while they didn’t find anything in Wallace’s old college records-”

“Which I said they wouldn’t.”

“-I was still right about one thing: Our Archives staff collects every document from every place Wallace ever visited, including elementary school, junior high, and… even the records from the hospital he was born at.”

“But do you understand what happened, Beecher? That hospital-sure, it’s great that they have the President’s birth records. But when Mr. Harmon started digging, he also found another file with Wallace’s name on it: for a broken finger that Wallace had treated in the emergency room twenty-six years ago. That means that emergency room-”

“-is the same emergency room they took Eightball to that night. I know. The barber told me they were there. I know what happened.”

“I’m sure you do. But every word that barber said to you-from Minnie being the one to swing that bat, to Wallace covering it up to protect his sister, to transferring Eightball and keeping him hidden all these years, to however Clementine found out about it and started blackmailing them-y’know what that amounts to? Nothing. Not a single thing, Beecher. Every word that barber said is hearsay from a dead man. If you go and shout it in public, you’ll get about as far as any other Kennedy conspiracy nut who swears that Jack Ruby whispered all his secrets from his jail cell. But. If we get these hospital records, you have the one thing- the only thing-that works when you’re going up against a sitting President. Proof. That file is proof, Beecher. Proof that Wallace was there that night. That file in Pennsylvania will save your life.”

I know Dallas is right. And I know when it comes to the massive piles of incoming records, our office won’t fax them or scan them until they’re officially processed, which starts with the vital documents and takes years to work its way down to something as small as a childhood broken finger. Yet…“You’re not answering my question,” I say, still locked on our reflection in the windshield. “You said Mr. Harmon called. That you spoke to him yourself. But when we were at the cemetery, I didn’t give Mr. Harmon your number. I gave him mine.”

Dallas turns, cocky as ever.

“And that’s what you’re all sulky about? That I picked up your phone? You were already at St. Elizabeths-I was back in the office and heard it ringing-so yeah, of course I picked it up. Considering what happened, you’re lucky I did.”

I nod. It’s a perfect explanation. But it doesn’t lift my mood.

“How’re you not thrilled?” Dallas asks. “This is gonna be the nail for the coffin.”

“I’ve already seen the coffins! Two men are dead! Orlando… and now this barber-He came to me! The barber came to me and died in front of me! All because of-Because she-” I stay with the reflection, trying hard not to see myself.

Outside, the sun argues with the snow that lines both sides of I-270. A brown-and-white highway sign tells me we’re nearing Hagerstown and the Pennsylvania border. But I’m still staring at my own reflection.

“You didn’t cause those deaths, Beecher. And just so you actually hear it: She wasn’t exploiting your weakness. She was counting on your strength.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“What Clementine did-the only reason she was able to pull it off-was because you’re someone who helps people. And that’s a good thing.”

“It doesn’t feel so good right now,” I say as I again replay every single moment over the past two days. The only thing that’s worse is how easily she pulled it off. For Clementine to have everything that the barber confessed to Eightball… for her to somehow figure out all the Plumber details… and when we first were in the SCIF… I don’t think she found that old dictionary. I think she was actually sneaking it in, but then when the coffee got spilled, she had to improvise…

“Listen, I know she and Nico stabbed you plenty deep-”

“No. Don’t blame Nico for this. You didn’t see him-the way he reacted… Nico’s not in this. And I know it’s hard to believe because he’s such a nutface, but when you listen to him-there was one thing Nico was always right about.” Up above, the sun blinds me. But not for long. “Nico said we’re all here for a reason. He’s not wrong. So when this is done-when Clementine’s captured, and Orlando’s family has their answers, and we tell the world the real story about the President-”

“You don’t have to say it, Beecher. They’re watching,” Dallas says, leaning hard on the word they, which is how he always refers to the Culper Ring. “They’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

I nod, pretending that’s what I’m really after.

“So I assume they’re the ones who gave you this car?” I ask.

“And the gray one too,” Dallas says.

“Yeah, I was thinking about that. So I shouldn’t be worried that the barber’s body is still sitting in it?”

“If Jesus himself came down and searched that car, he’d still never be able to trace it.”

“I drove it on the grounds. They’re not going to link it to me?”

“They said not to worry about that either.”

“So that’s it? The Culper Ring just waves their hands and magically takes care of it all?”

“It’s not magic, Beecher. It’s loyalty. Loyalty and efficiency. They’ll get there well before the cops, and then… well… think of what you’re seeing with Wallace and Palmiotti. Especially in this town, never underestimate the power of loyalty.”

“I’m not. That’s why, when everything settles…” I take a breath and think again about that guy from Hiroshima. “I want to be introduced.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“To them. To the Culper Ring. When this is all done, I want in.”

“Beecher, I know you’ve got a lot of adrenaline flowing…”

“This isn’t adrenaline. And don’t think it’s some silly revenge fantasy either. I know what Clementine did to me. I know I let her do it. But when I was in that car at St. Elizabeths-when I thought the barber was about to take that knife and slit my throat-I kept waiting for my life to flash in front of my eyes… or for some hypersensitivity, or slow motion, or whatever the other cliches are, to kick in. But instead, all I could think was that it felt… right. Does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“I don’t mean right that I was about to be murdered. I mean right that, when I was in that spot… when I was in that danger… I felt like I was shaken awake. After Iris… after everything she made me feel… I made a decision and went to sleep. Do you know what that’s like-trying to go to sleep, and lose yourself in the hopes of burying the worst fears in your life? It was the one thing Clementine didn’t lie about: I wasn’t in love with the past. I was terrified of my own future-and then when Clementine came along, I thought she was my second chance. But she’s not. This is. I want my second chance. It’s like my life finally makes sense.”

“That’s still the adrenaline speaking.”

“It’s not adrenaline. It’s what we’re here for, Dallas. It’s what I thought I was here for, but instead… Do you know how many years I’ve spent staring into old books and thinking I was touching history? But that’s not where